


The Stray

by Shockcakes



Category: Furry (Fandom), Original Work
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fondling, Oral Sex, Stealth sex, Under the Table
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-24 18:29:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20363089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shockcakes/pseuds/Shockcakes
Summary: Morgana discovers her dislike for cats.





	1. Morgana Becomes a Sap

The Obsidian Grove was undoubtedly one of Morgana’s least favorite spots for material gathering.

The blackened forest was a nightmare to stroll through. Tall trees as black as pitch made seeing past her own snout a chore. She made the trip out in the morning and somehow the gloomy expanse forced the sky to resemble early nightfall. She’s already counted three tree branches she’s tripped over.

Morgana veered to the left path, momentarily stopping to take a mental picture of her surroundings. With the little amount of sight the forest granted, getting lost wasn’t a possibility. It was an omen.

Luckily, she had failsafe tucked away safely in her back pocket. How fortuitous that the witch was able to spring for a portable wormhole-in-a-jar from Spells 4 Less. Half price too!

Either way, that Inkwood sap was as good as her’s. Such a rarity could only be found in the Grove during the peak of the winter season and it only ever leaked from a specific tree for about a day. Difficult to come by yet very much worth the annoyance. Morgana closed up shop specifically for today. The sap made for an excellent crafting ingredient, as well as the sweetest catalyst for tea. It was well worth the freezing temperatures. All she had to do was find the right tree.

Morgana followed her nose, tracing any scent of the pigmented tree residue. Her search eventually reached a satisfying halt. A primed target remained over in a darkened clearing – a particularly modest tree, already leaking with inky, black fluid.

She could almost taste that wonderful tea.

With a joyful spring in her step, the witch sauntered over to the sapling. Moving the hem of her steepled hat, she gazed at its magnificence. “Hello, beautiful~.” She couldn’t help but sing, appreciative of there being no strings att-.

“Well aren’t _you_ the flatterer.”

Morgana flinched. The forest’s darkness hadn’t contributed in the slightest for finding her supposed conversation partner. Her head swiveled around her direct surroundings, detecting not one trace of-

“Down here, miss.”

From beneath the ground she walked, a pair of white eyes stared back at her, appearing only inches from her feet. Out of impulse, Morgana stepped back, clasping her cape shut given how “convenient” the ghost was positioned.

“Hello there!” The eyes joyfully greeted…somehow. “I don’t often receive visitors!”

Morgana frowned. “Uhh…hi.” She noticed the corporeal gaze slightly inching closer to her.

“Now what on earth, may I ask, brings a lovely bat lady to my bleak, neck of the woods?” The voice was overtly energetic and flirty; two of Morgana’s least favorite personality types. She had half a mind to stamp her heel between those eyes if they were trying to go where she thought they were going. If only she could be sure that doing so wouldn’t give him exactly what he wanted.

“Look…you. I’m just trying to get some of this tree’s sap so if you don’t mi-“

“_This _tree?”

Morgana’s eyes narrowed. She hadn’t the slightest clue who this mystery shadow person was but her gut instinct told her to keep her wits about her.

“Yeah…_that_ tree.”

“Well, that ehh…might be a bit of an issue.”

Morgana sighed in frustration. “I won’t be long, I’ll just grab what I need and I’ll be on my way.”

“No, wait! I mean you literally can’t-“

Morgana reached for the tree but her palm was stopped. Some odd barrier materialized, preventing any sort of contact.

“Ok. I’ll bite.” She deadpanned, turning back to her little “friend”. “What gives?”

Through some invisible mouth trick, the pair of eyes chuckled, innocently. “This particular tree is my home you see.”

“Your…home.”

“Yep!”

Morgana blinked. “I wasn’t under the impression that a pair of disconnected eyes would _need_ one but whatever.”

“Actually I’m not _just _a pair of eyes, good ma’am. If you would be so kind as to step back?”

Morgana did as she was told.

“Little more.”

And again.

“Liiiittle bit more.”

Again still.

“Juuuuust a bit-“

“Oh get _on_ with it!”

“…Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The surrounding air exploded into violent winds. Finding steady footing suddenly became a challenge with the intense breeze. As was keeping her cloak closed.

After she was semi-confident that her hat wouldn’t fly off the top of her head, Morgana beheld her new company. The eyes that took residence beneath her feet were now plastered onto a silhouette, only a few shades away from being camouflaged within the background of the grove. He took a humanoid shape, fairly slim and with a seemingly poised countenance to him. From his modest, slightly taller stature, the eye was drawn to his bipedal cat-like appearance – his pointed ears and tail adding to it.

“Allow me to introduce myself, Ms. Gartered Tights,” Morgana fired him a sour look. With a bit more annoyance, she yanked her cape shut to keep from silhouette man’s prying ghost eyeballs. “My name is Cheshire,” he punctuated with a grin in the shape of his namesake, “welcome to my humble abode!”

“Yeahthat’sgreat. Why can’t I get sap from this tree?”

“A bit impatient aren’t you, Ms. Witch?” Cheshire chuckled to himself. The humor was lost on her. “You see, I’m a blight spirit. Any place that I ‘tether’ myself to becomes inaccessible by anyone other than…well, _me_. An unfortunate curse I’m afraid.”

Morgana furrowed her brow. “Riiight. Well, if you could just ‘tether’ yourself to some other tree so I can get the sap from this one, I’ll just-“

“I can’t just _untether_ myself from a place all willy nilly! These things take time and a toll on us blight spirits! Why I’d need to be linked to something else for _at least_ a week before the untethering will be finished!”

“One _week_?! I don’t have that kind of time! I only have a day until the sap runs dry!”

“_Although_,”

He paused on the word with the subtlety of an exploding cauldron.

“I believe the process could be expedited if I were to tether myself to say, a living creature?” His tail swiveled with intrigue.

Morgana was sensing a pattern here. A deeply agitating pattern. She had no prior knowledge of these “blight spirits” but she had little other options beyond waiting until the next winter season to get her hands on her next best-selling tea.

It can’t be any worse than dealing with fucking two-faced demon lords into submission or putting up with insane succubus libido.

She sighed to herself. “What do I gotta do?”


	2. Morgana is Not a Sex Witch

Morgana had to admit. This was a new low.

“Don’t you get any funny ideas under there.”

For whatever reason, the journey back to her potion shop was painfully long, even with the wormhole-in-a-jar. Another minor headache ailed her mind as she realized she was going to have to buy another one for the return trip tomorrow. At full price.

“_Funny_ ideas? Why I’m offended my good ma’am!”

Her impromptu “tenant” had made himself comfortable, lingering in her actual shadow. Cheshire’s eyes hung in her shadow where her own would normally be. She could quite literally feel him, like a scrawny feline clinging to her back just because it could. The witch must have looked ridiculous twirling around left and right trying to keep the spirit from having his very own peep show.

“And might I add that your shadow provides such a wonderful amount of space?”

The witch’s nose scrunched up in offense. “Are you calling me _fat_?”

He paused as though he was considering his answer very, _very_ carefully. As he should. “Erm, not at all! Wouldn’t-wouldn’t dream of it!”

She continued to make a sour look. “Uh-huh.”

Tomorrow couldn’t get here any faster.

The comfort of her residence came soon enough. As the day was still young, keeping the shop closed seemed like a waste. She might as well make the most out of a potential day of sales.

But first.

Without a second thought, her arm plunged into her own shadow, returning with her little magic parasite dangling from her grip. “Listen here, you airheaded shadow freak,”

“That’s a bit harsh don’t you th-“

“Ground rules.” A stern finger in his face kept his mouth shut. “No talking, no staring, no _freaking out my customers_.” Her eyes narrowed further on him from that last rule, baring her reasonably brutal fangs. Morgana _really_ did not need her already dwindling customer base being scared off by some freeloading cat-shaped blob of nightmares.

Cheshire gave another earnest grin. “Oh relax! I don’t really do much anyhow! You won’t even notice I’m there.”

Morgana frowned. She _severely_ doubted that but at this point, she had little sway over her circumstances at the moment. That Inkwood tree was gonna be milked for all it was worth when this was over. “Just…stay out of sight or whatever.” With a goofy solute, the blot dove back into her (not at all fat) shadow.

Her day progressed just as well – menial chores of restocking the centaur hooves and the faerie wings were enough to deter the sensation of the invisible gremlin crawling along her back. Whenever she felt a sneaky hand going where it shouldn’t, Morgana always saw fit to shoot a glare at the pair of eyes lingering in her shadow. Perhaps delving into her tomes would show how possible it would be to shove a Blight Spirit in a jar.

Or how much it would go for.

Before the witch could begin mulling over prices, the ring of her entrance bell attracted her full attention. Morgana’s countenance shifted as she stood behind her counter. A deep breath, followed by a dignified slump.

“Welcome to Morgana’s Manifest of the Metaphysical,” she professionally recited. Of all the concoctions, spells, and incantations she’s created, none gave her that little tingle of pride as the title of her shop. It had it all – alliteration, intrigue, and a roll of the tongue. She never got tired of saying it. “What can I do for-“

“DO YOU HAVE ANY GUM?!”

Her entire body deflated. The jittery parrot-headed gentleman eyed everything in the store – the potions, the ingredients, the purple fuzzy rug, _anything_ other than the tiny stand of decorative candies on the side of her counter.

“…_Yes_.”

“Oh.”

Total silence.

“Okay!”

Squawky Steve immediately strolled out the door, his duties in annoying all gum selling stores off to a riveting start with Morgana already left groaning, face-down, on her counter.

“So your name is _Morgana_? How alluring!” Somehow, her guest became less of a grievance by comparison. “What an odd gentleman.”

“Shuddup.”

“Are all your customers like that?”

“No!...Maybe.”

\--

“Are you still having that sale on lycan’s fur? I don’t see the sign up anymore?”

“Wanda’s sells those Cyclops eyes for 2 bucks less.”

“Will this make my penis bigger?”

Morgana lost count of how many times she rubbed her temples. Since starting her shop, the witch had since learned something about the sleepy little town she resided in:

Customers were idiots.

Such grave misfortune that she always desired more customers while praying they never come back. The thought of making money was always followed by the misery of having to hear some mouth breather explain why he needs “organic” behemoth feed for the better half of an hour.

And then there was-

“Hey, you one of them sex witches?”

_-those_ customers.

Morgana swallowed the venom that threatened to spew from her mouth once the inquiry reached her ear.

“No.” She calmly answered the goblin patron.

Another one popped up from behind him. “That’s weird, I coulda swore this was the right address.”

Her eye twitched.

Goblins had a knack for emerging in groups. Whenever one of their loud mouths spoke, two more would often tune in to offer a response that no one really asked for. They were a pain in the ass.

“If you ain’t a sex witch, then how come you got a sign up front saying ‘I’m not a sex witch’. Seems like the kind o’ thing a sex witch would say.” A third one chirped as if they were multiplying.

That blasted sign had earned its place at the edge of her window after her impromptu “shift” as Nyssa’s backup succubus. All that demonic tramp needed was _one_ client in her town for precautions to be taken.

“_He’s got a point_.” Morgana’s shadow chimed in a hushed whisper, earning the kind of death glare seen from future serial killers. Cheshire took the hint.

Her attention turned back to the now 5 goblin passersby still hinged on the very much _untrue_ claim.

“See I told youse there was a sex witch in the market!”

“For the last time, I-“

Two more popped into her store before she could reply through gritted teeth. “AY I FOUND THE SEX WITCH! THE BAT ONE!”

A female greenskin this time. “The one wit’ the hips?! I heard they were huge!”

It was safe to assume Morgana had reached her breaking point – and when she reached her breaking point, she learned things about her upper body strength.

A forced exodus of the mass of 3-4 feet tall annoyances occurred by her hand. The small crowd (in more ways than one) was effectively tossed out on the street, soon cleared out once they realized the “sex witch” wasn’t taking any patrons. There might’ve been some off chance that maybe one of those shorties could have bought _something_ but testing her luck wasn’t something Morgana wished to do at the moment.

Once she was certain the only thing green in her shop her bottle of fermented frog legs, Morgana slumped against her door, groaning in only the loudest of frustrations. To make matters worse, her “visitor” reappeared.

“I didn’t know you were a sex witch.” He hung upside down in front of her face, making that annoyingly chipper grin.

Morgana rescinded her previous opinion. _This_ was a new low.

She prepared to offer a retort but at this point, she was too dejected to do so. Picking herself up off the floor, Morgana trodded back behind her counter with a grumble to await the next grievance to walk through her doors.


	3. Morgana Gets Head Under the Table

The bat’s eye turned to the clock, noting the hours she had left for the day. She had trained herself not to stare at it too habitually as doing so would only serve to anger whatever deity controlled the passage of time and drive them to make the minutes go by even _slower_. It was bad enough that she was counting down the seconds until-

“That better not be _your_ paws on my tits I’m feeling.”

-until she was rid of this pervy little pest.

Again, the shadowy feline reappeared, breaking her train of thought and charmingly propping his chin on top of Morgana’s shoulder. With his hands very much where they _shouldn’t _be.

“You seemed tense.”

While the statement was true, it was said more likely as an excuse to get a bit too acquainted with her tits.

Sneaky palms saw fit to “relax” her, deeming her chest to be a suitable starting point. The trickster had taken advantage of his intangible form. She certainly saw a pair of black palms fondling her plump bosom, the slightly warm touch was present as well, but they were just out of finger-breaking range. Assuming they could be broken.

She plainly dodged his remark. “And I’m supposed to believe that some shady feline I just met miraculously cares about my well being?” Her teeth grit – completely out of agitation, she assured herself. Whatever pleasure that _theoretically_ could’ve come from the tantalizing digits inching closer to her peaks was nonexistent.

“I…well,” Cheshire stammered impishly, “I admit that being stuck to a tree for most of my life never really helped with…urges.”

“And that’s my problem, how?”

“Oh come now, a little bit of fun never hurt anyone!” His arms momentarily left her chest to lift the edges of her lips into a smile. Morgana was less than impressed. “Think of out as a mutual back scratch! You do know how to have fun right?”

“Wh-I know how to have fu-am I being seriously lectured by a ghost right now?”

“…Do you want me to stop?”

Morgana frowned, doing her utmost best not to look at that smug grin. The immediate “YES” came to her mind but refused to leave her mouth. Naturally, she reasoned that the little pest wouldn’t leave her alone so easily. Letting him get it out of his system might afford her some proper peace. That seemed like a good excu-

No, _deduction_.

“Just…get on with it.” Morgana propped her chin on her arm, almost entirely certain she was going to regret this decision. “You’re lucky I could actually use a breather.”

The glint in his transparent eyes did not bode well.

Again, Cheshire’s corporeal hands decided to roam her curves at his pleasure. Honestly, with the number of times she’s had someone at her breasts, Morgana was uncertain if she could give a proper reaction from them anymore. Though that didn’t stop her cheeks from tinting pink.

The spirit’s fingers eventually dipped into the inside of her bustier. “May I-“

“_No_.” The sternness of her voice on the topic was indication enough that it wasn’t up for discussion. “Not looking to get stripped naked in my own store.”

“That’s fair.”

Satisfied with the attention he gave to her bust, Cheshire eventually trailed down her curves, stopping right around Morgana’s rear. His feline mug made a mischievous face as she felt him reach underneath her skirt. Teasingly, the spirit repeatedly tugged on her underwear, letting it smack against her backside. Still, Morgana gave no response other than a bored roll of her eyes.

He made quite the show of playing with her ass – spreading her apart, squishing her cheeks together, cupping them every chance he could. Cheshire’s tastes were made abundantly clear as he lowered himself into her shadow just to be face level with her hips. Typical.

“…Really?” To the surprise of no one, Morgana glared down to see his face, comfortably nuzzled into from behind.

“Sorry. Couldn’t help it.”

She grunted impatiently. “You get _one_ more minute and it’s back in the shadow.”

Something told her that her warning went through one intangible ear and out the other. Cheshire kept busy underneath her counter with little sign of stopping. At least the flow of customers had died down for now. Gods forbid that some random bystander decided to casually stroll into her shop.

How unfortunate that they weren’t listening.

Morgana froze stiff as her latest guest strolled in through the door.

With a few deep breaths, Morgana regained her composure. Reciting her store’s mantra served to alleviate the initial surprise. “Wel-Welcome to Morgana’s Manifest of the Metaphysical,”

At the entrance of her door stood a diminutive figure. A short elderly looking elf lady – no older than a crisp 620 years.

_Fuck_.

Elves were among her more sane customers, usually her most high paying ones as well. They also had a knack for being a bunch of prudes. She’d develop the habit of sinking behind her counter to prevent some offhand comment on how skimpy her outfit was.

It wasn’t _her_ fault the bustier miniskirt was the most affordable thing in her size.

A lecture from some long-eared crone about modesty and values in *her* day was not something she needed to hear. Morgana swallowed tensely, putting up her most unsuspecting face. Thankfully, the sudden company was enough to get Cheshire to back off her ass for a minute. All she had to do now was keep her cool.

“How may I help y-OU?!”

She bit her tongue. Mortified, her hands clenched the edge of her desk hard enough to carve marks. She didn’t need to look to see a certain blight spirit’s tongue going where it wasn’t supposed to. He was pushing it now. The elf grandma didn’t pick up on her slip. Or rather if she did, she didn’t say anything about it and was simply judging her silently like how all elves did.

“Simply browsing,” the old lady replied sweetly.

The very second her back was turned, Morgana directed her attention to her tenant. “_What_ do you think you’re doing?!” She hissed.

Very quickly, Morgana had discovered that Cheshire really lacked any sort of shame. His hands were still wrapped around her butt with his muzzle aimed between her legs. The crotch of her underwear was shifted aside, giving him proper access to her exposed sex.

“You never said to stop.” He replied cheekily.

She fought through the shudder elicited by his tongue grazing her clit. “I shouldn’t have to, you psychopath!” She attempted to kick him off, only to realize once again that the “spirit” in blight spirit wasn’t an overstatement. Cheshire was certainly as disobedient as cats normally came, much to her irritation.

Her gaze alternated between him and the lone customer. If she could get out of this without some elf thinking she was some creepy exhibitionist, that would make her day.

Morgana mentally placed blocks within her mind, shutting out whatever thoughts she had on the rough muscle that was sending electricity through her entire bo-

_NOPE NOPE NOPE._

A sharp pair of fingers aided in clinging her back to celibacy. For the sake of clarity, she decided to pinch herself a second time.

The elderly woman approached the counter, her shorter stature putting her below the witch’s direct line of sight. Morgana was willing to bet that the woman’s spotty hearing and weakness of eyesight kept her from questioning why the merchant’s face was red or why she was making such suppressed noises.

“Excuse me, dearie,” she politely inquired, “I was hoping that you had any fishman oil?”

“F-Fishman oil?” She echoed. One of her best sellers. The ingredient was integral to a long list of healthy foods and even certain skincare potions. Morgana knew a guy – lagoon creature rather – who dealt her a more than fair price straight from the tap. The stuff was just as vicious as Cheshire’s ton-

That really wasn’t something she needed to be thinking about right now.

“B-AAH-ttom shelf!” To her horror, her concentration broke for the slightest moment, fallen victim to a long, encompassing lick. “On the r-right.” Her odd way of speaking had earned a look from the elf lady.

Yet again, the boundaries of humility were no match for her.

On her end, Cheshire continued to assault her opening. Low chuckles so close to her sent minor waves of pleasure rippling through. The worst was yet to come.

Every so often, he would bring his mouth closer to her engorged clit. He would tease her, and it would devolve into the most confusing type of mental torture possible. Morgana’s body would beg for him to give attention to her rosy bud, yet the trickster’s unwillingness to do so was the only thing keeping her current customer from prudishly storming off in shock. It was suffering.

Keeping her breathing stable was a losing battle. While the customer’s back was turned, Morgana held a palm to her mouth as she keened in the softest manner possible. Without even knowing, her leg went behind Cheshire’s shoulder. Fitting that it was the one time that he left himself solid enough for her to do so.

She bit her finger hard enough to taste the smallest droplet of blood. This sheer amount of euphoria was borderline addicting. The pressure in her loins steadily built, nearing dangerous levels. Lower lips were parted aside to allow entrance for Cheshire’s tongue. Her walls tightened around him Morgana had since stopped caring that the blight spirit had chosen now of all times to satisfy an urge.

She was close. So _unbelievably_ close. Her ears rang. She snaked her hand under, resting it on the back of his head. Surprisingly enough, the ethereal blot was soft to the touch, having prickles of fur not unlike a feline.

Morgana coaxed Cheshire further with a firm hand. He returned the order by plunging his tongue deeper to her core.

Her ears continued to ring.

Her breath hitched.

_Gods_ she was almost there!

The ringing grew louder, as though calling out to her.

Just a bit further and-

“Miss? Miss!”

“Wh-huh? What? What??”

The color drained from Morgana’s face. She retracted her arm from his head with god-like speed. The elderly elven woman was again at her counter, this time with her fishman oil and other assorted groceries. The mildly cross look she had suggested that she was awaiting service longer than necessary.

The witch cracked a sheepish grin, all while her body was nearly screaming for release. “Oh! Yes, _Mmm_ma’am!” She strained to keep a proper poker face. Her legs wobbled, ready to give out at a moment’s notice and the blood that rushed to her face made her dizzy. “Tha-That’ll be 20 – _haah_ – gold…p-please.”

Mercy was not a luxury that the gods had granted to her. His palms gripped firmly on her ass, his face remained buried into her nethers. It was not long before Cheshire’s active tongue had discovered her weakest point, teasing against the sensitive areas of her g-spot. The last shred of Morgana’s willpower had been lost.

She bit her lip in utter desperation, forcing her urge to wail back down her throat. With a weak groan, she strained. “Th-Thank you for…f-for…! C-_Coming_!”

She came and she came _hard_. The elbows supporting her weight had given out, leaving her with no other option than to collapse on her desk as her face twisted into such a shameful grin.

As she finally came down from her high, she was met with the awkward gaze of her audience of one.

“Erm…you’re welcome?”

\--

Setting foot back in the darkness of the Obsidian Grove from the break of the dawn probably wasn’t the wisest choice for her light-adjusting eyes. A necessary discomfort, Morgana reasoned, as now she would finally to receive the fruits of her hardship.

All while dragging said hardship by the end of his tail.

“Y-You know, you don’t _have _to leave me back he-“

“I’m thinking yes.”

“But-but-“

“I think you’ve had _enough_ of those for one day.”

The same tree she had left behind was right where it was and, thankfully, still oozing with its rich inkwood sap.

“Finally.” She couldn’t help but sigh in satisfaction as she went about gathering the material that was _rightfully_ her’s. In moments, she had precisely what she needed; buckets full of inkwood sap all but waiting to be sold for a generous price and the riddance of her temporary tenant.

With a wry smirk, the witch hefted up her bounty and shoved off. “Welp! It’s been fun! See ya’ when I see ya’! Buh-bye!”

She counted at least five whole steps she made before hearing a quite vocal whimper. The mood had shifted out of her favor. Daring to glance behind her, Morgana saw the melancholy blight spirit, dejectedly sitting down in front of the tree he had deemed his home.

“What are you doing?”

“Making you feel bad for not keeping me.” He said with a noticeable pout. “Is it working?”

“…Don’t you _live_ here?”

“It gets lonely!”

“Not my problem.”

“Isn’t that a bit unfair?”

Morgana’s eye twitched. “Isn’t humiliating me in front of a half-millennia-old elf_ unfair_?”

Cheshire deflated. “Well…alright, perhaps I was a bit too eager after being cooped up for so long. But I promise it won’t happen again! Pleeeeease?” He offered one last signature grin.

Morgana wasn’t the type to fall for sob stories and sappy faces…though she’d be lying if she said she enjoyed seeing a sight so pathetic.

“…So help me if you get grabby when I have customers again, I’m stuffing you in a lamp shadow and selling you for pocket change.”

The shadow feline lit up brighter than…anything in the forest. “Oooooh, thankyouthankyouthankyou!” He bolted back into her shadow faster than her eye could track. There was that close, snug feeling again.

“I promise you won’t regret this!”

She doubted that. “Cheshire,”

“Oh, it’ll be so nice to get out of the forest more!”

“_Cheshire_.”

“Oh, I can even be your familiar! Witches need those right?”

“_CHESHIRE_.”

“Yes?”

“Get your hand off my ass.”


End file.
